


Stranger Things

by PrinceNux



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies)
Genre: Ace deserves nice things, Ace is the #1 Foxy Grandpa and not sure how to feel about it, F/M, Forgive Me, I am so sorry, I think I made Slit a call-boy, I'm making myself sad writing this, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2018-04-06
Packaged: 2018-07-22 16:18:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 11,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7445719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceNux/pseuds/PrinceNux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>christmasbarakat:<br/>my dad is a cop and i just called him and he was like "hey i have a 17 year old boy in the back of my cop car right now that i'm running him to the station" and i asked if he was cute and my dad said "Hey, my daughter wants to know if you're cute" and the guy said "i want to say yes, sir" and my dad started laughing so hard</p><p>Saw this post on Tumblr, as was like, "hey, I can turn that into a fanfiction!"<br/>So, since I have no shame, I did.</p><p>(The summary that is with this fic on my WattPad is so nice and descriptive, but it was too long on here). </p><p>The tags actually sum up the story pretty well.<br/>But, basically, Max saves Nux and then adopts him. Fast forward eight years and Max has a hungover, shirtless, and bloody Slit in his car when Nux calls him. Then Max's carefully constructed world kind of goes to hell. </p><p>And the fanfic author cries. A lot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Before

**Author's Note:**

> Even though the first chapter is told from Max's point of view, the story happening in the present tense is from Slit's point of view. The chapters labelled Before will tell the story of how max and Furiosa first met, and then the chapters that will be in the present tense after that will just have the chapter number at the top.

It had been a slow day down at the police station. Max was sitting at his desk, leg propped up on an overturned trashcan to give his bum knee a rest.  
Furiosa was shining her prosthetic, and Max was trying his best to ignore what the movements of her lithe fingers over the metal was doing to him.  
Thankfully, his stomach chose that moment to rumble, allowing him to chalk the feeling up to just being hungry. Which, being unable to remember the last time that he had eaten, he was rather peckish. Yeah, he thought to himself, keep it up with the pathetic pining and just keep your dumb mouth shut.

“Time for a lunch break?” Furiosa asked, startling Max out of his thoughts and almost on to the floor.  
Suddenly, there was a hand on his shoulder, steadying him, helping him ease his leg back on to the floor.  
“Sorry,” Furiosa said gently, “sometimes I forget how easily you still startle.”

“Hide it well,” Max deadpanned, getting to his feet slower than his 29 years would suggest.  
Furiosa only smiled good-naturedly, grabbing her prosthetic arm off her desk and handing it to Max with a, “help me get this damn thing on?”

Max complied, taking the prosthetic from her even though they both knew that she can get it on by herself.  
Neither spoke as he slid the bottom half of the arm over the stump right below Furiosa's elbow, and carefully fastened the straps over her shoulder.  
This simple act was a common one between them, conveying both an immense trust for one another, and a feeling that was so intense and ran so deep, neither was brave enough to explore it.  
None of their fellow officers said anything about it, partly out of respect, but mostly because they all knew that Furiosa would skin them alive if they did mention it.

With the prosthetic in place, Furiosa flexed the silicone and metal fingers and rolled the sleeve of her button up back down.  
“How’s it work?” Max asked-and not for the first time-gesturing at the arm and mobile fingers.  
“Magic,” Furiosa replied, barely containing her laughter.

 

Max grunted and started for the door, but was stopped by another officer with a hand on his shoulder and a hurried, “suit up and get on the road right now. There’s a drug bust going on at a warehouse couple blocks over. Think it might be some of Joe’s guys. You and Furiosa are wanted for back-up.”

Max nodded, waving Furiosa over and silently ordering his growling stomach to shut up.

Him and Furiosa headed to the locker rooms, pulling on jackets and bullet-proof vests, swapping out their sneakers for boots.  
Once they were all suited up, the pair hurried down to the garage and after climbing into their squad car, Furiosa hit the gas and peeled out of the underground garage. 

They arrived at the warehouse to a fellow officer donning a gasmask and pitching a canister of teargas inside.  
Pulling on a mask of his own, Max felt a twinge in his gut that wasn’t from hunger. It was worry. Of what exactly, he wasn’t sure. Furiosa could handle herself, and she wouldn’t let him do something so stupid as getting himself killed.  
Still, he just couldn’t shake the feeling.

Shrugging, he followed Furiosa out of the car, hand poised over the handgun at his hip. They hurried into the building, disappearing in a cloud of teargas.

After a few beats of silence, Max turned to Furiosa, only to find that she was no longer by his side. Cursing under his breath, because he knew better than to alert any of Joe’s lackeys to his presence, he moved deeper into the warehouse.

Suddenly, the toe of his boot caught on something, almost sending him pitching forward onto the hard concrete floor.  
Steadying himself and quickly rubbing out a forming kink in his knee, Max was about to keep moving when whatever it was that he’d almost tripped over moved.

Max jumped back a step, pulling his gun out of the holster. However, when the lump unfurled and he found himself looking into the tear-streaked face of a young boy with the bluest eyes that he had ever seen, Max lowered the gun.

The boy whimpered, eyes growing even wider as he pointed behind Max and curled in on himself again.  
Max turned, gun raised again, and found himself face to face with a man whose face was painted like a skull.  
The man raised a gun of his own, but instead of pointing it at-or even shooting Max-he aimed at the child on the floor.

Without fully registering what he was doing, Max found himself on the cold cement floor, curled around the boy just as the other man fired his gun.

Max heard, rather than saw, the bullet hit his bum knee.  
Curling himself tighter around the boy, he screamed into his clenched teeth before turning and shooting the attacker between the eyes.

The man fell, hitting the ground on his back with blood blossoming out around his head like a halo.

Uncurling from around the boy, Max dragged himself backward to lean against a wall. Unclipping his Walkie-Talkie from a belt loop, he radioed Furiosa and felt tears of relief and pain spring to his eyes when she picked up. 

By the time that Furiosa and two paramedics along with a stretcher got to Max, he was passed out, and the boy was standing over him protectively. 

 

Furiosa approached the boy slowly, holding her hands up so he knew that she wouldn’t hurt him.  
Bending down in front of him, she reached out her flesh hand, saying, “hi. My name is Furiosa. And the man who is being taken to the ambulance is Max. He is a very dear friend of mine. Thank you for protecting him.”

The boy nodded, reaching out to grab her prosthetic hand with a mumbled, “‘m Nux. Your hand is wicked chrome.”  
Furiosa smiled even as she felt her heart break a little for Nux. She remembered what it was like being with Joe, how the younger and older boys would call things “shiny” and “chrome,” and how often she prayed for death before she managed to escape.

Standing up and dusting grit from her pants, she stood and led Nux out of the warehouse and to her waiting squad car.  
She let Nux sit in the passenger seat, and wrapped Max’s old leather jacket around his thin shoulders.  
He smiled up at her, midday shadows playing across the sharp angles and hollows of his young face, catching on the thick scars etched into his lips, giving him the appearance of a skeleton.

They made the drive to the hospital in silence, eating sandwiches in the cafeteria and waiting for Max to get out of surgery.

Hours later Nux had fallen asleep on a couch in the waiting room.  
Furiosa watched over him, feeling her heart twist at how thin he was, and how many scars he already had.  
She was so lost in thought that, when a doctor came to get her and take her to see Max, she actually jumped to her feet in surprise, hand on her gun.

The doctor held up his hands goodnaturedly, saying quietly, “your partner is awake and asking for you. Says he has something important to tell you.”

Rolling her shoulders, Furiosa followed the doctor down the hall a little bit and into Max’s hospital room. 

The doctor left her at the door, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder, saying, “the surgery went very well. However, he will have to wear a knee brace from now on. The bullet, coupled with the car crash that killed his wife and child, caused irreparable damage to his knee.”

Furiosa nodded her thanks to the doctor and went into the room.  
Max was sitting up in the hospital bed, aided by a couple pillows, his leg in traction, and looking pretty blissed out on painkillers. 

Sitting in a chair by the bed, Furiosa reached out a placed her flesh hand on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze.  
Max turned to look at her, eyes full of affection, and said, “that kid...the one that I almost tripped over. I’ve decided I’m gonna adopt him.”

Running her prosthetic hand down her face in exasperation, Furiosa buried her face in Max’s shoulder.  
“Goddammit, Rockatansky.”  
“Mmmm....I know.”


	2. Now

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really hoping that I haven't botched Slit's character up too bad. But, since he didn't get any character development, and became an extra crispy lizard before he had a chance for a redemption arc, he's a blank slate character pretty much. I just know for certain that he is brash and violent and shows he cares by being an asshole. Okay. I'm rambling. Please forgive me.

Minutes upon entering the liquor store, Slit is promptly kicked out. Even though he isn’t entirely sure why, he is sure that it has something to do with the blood on his chest. And also the fact that he isn’t wearing a shirt, but that isn’t his fault. 

He had tried to explain this to the guy behind the counter, and how he just really needed a drink, but that obviously hadn’t worked. Sighing, he slumps against a telephone pole, mildly surprised that he still feels this hungover. 

Usually Slit can hold his liquor like a champ, but when he could still feel the older man’s fingers on him after two scalding hot showers, he had made quick work of the mini-bar in the hotel room. Seeing how the man had kicked him in the ribs before kicking him out, drinking all the liquor may not have been the best idea. That, and Slit can feel a bruise forming that matches the tread on the old fucker’s shoes.

Groaning in pain and anger, Slit presses a shaking hand to his sore ribs and finds that he is unable to stop himself from sliding down the telephone pole and onto the ground. 

Right after Slit resigns himself to being on the ground until he can muster up the strength to move, strong arms are hooked under his own, and he is pulled to his feet.

Once upright again, Slit’s instincts kick in, and he tries to smash the back of his head into the person’s face behind him.  
The person curses in agitation, but manages to evade a bloody nose by spinning him around and holding his arms tightly at his sides. Upon finding himself unable to move, and too weak to struggle out of the man’s grip, Slit hisses at him.

The man loosens his grip on Slit’s arms, saying gruffly, “I’m not gonna hurt ya. Just wanna take you to a shelter.”  
Slit hisses again, not sure how to respond to the man’s words.  
“You’re filthy and freezing cold. And the manager of the liquor store called me, said you were scaring the customers,” the man continues, voice losing its gruffness and being replaced with a sort of fatherly warmth that Slit has never known before.

The two stand like that for a few beats. Slit assesses the man, eyes roving over him and cataloging his weapons-gun at his hip, taser in a separate pouch next to it, probably a gun in one of his boots. While Slit is admiring the man’s combat boots, not held together by tape and hope like his own, he notices that the man is wearing a leg brace. This makes Slit relax just a bit. If he needs to get away, it is unlikely the man will be able to run him down. Though, the man could always just shoot him in the back if he did try to run.

Deciding that he probably wouldn’t get very far in his weakened state, and finding himself really not in the mood to get shot, Slit nods his assent at the man and allows himself to be guided into the back of the squad car.


	3. Chapter 3

Slit allows himself to sink back into the soft upholstery of the back seat, distantly wondering how many other people have ridden in the back of the older man’s car. Probably a lot, and they were most likely all in handcuffs. Slit wants to ask if the man has handcuffs, but figures that would be an inappropriate thing to ask, and could be taken in the wrong way. 

It is only when the man has snapped his fingers in front of Slit’s face for the second time that Slit realizes he is being spoken to. He opens his mouth with every intention of responding, but instead finds his teeth snapping together as if he means to bite the cop. 

Slapping a shaking hand over his mouth, he presses himself further back into the seat, mumbling into his palm about how bad habits die hard.

The cop nods in understanding, turning back around in his seat to rummage through the glove box. Slit sees the glint of metal, wonders if the cop has ever gotten shot. Slit remembers having been shot at, but never hit. Still, it was horrifying, and he had almost pissed himself. 

Facing him once more, the cop grunts and holds out a dented metal thermos to Slit. He takes it instantly, not caring what is in it. Prying off the cup-lid, he drinks right from the thermos, too thirsty and cold for manners. 

 

When the hot chocolate that was in the thermos coats his tongue and burns his throat all the way down, an involuntary shiver goes through his whole body. Gods, he thinks, it’s so good. 

He can feel the cop’s eyes on him, not raking over his naked flesh like other men do, but just watching him with a silent sort of concern making a crease appear between his eyebrows.

When he hands back the empty thermos, the cop grins, setting the thermos on the floor in front of the passenger seat.  
Rubbing a palm into his knee with the brace on it-his bum knee, Slit concludes-he clears his throat before saying, “I’m officer Rockatansky. But, you can call me Max.”

Slit finds himself having to clap a hand over his mouth again, this time to keep himself from laughing at what a ridiculous last name Rockatansky is.

Max nods and shrugs as if to say, ‘what can ya do?’  
Slit agrees wholeheartedly, and only realizes after a few beats that he is supposed to introduce himself, too. 

Rusty, Slit thinks. That’s what he is. Rusty, and mediocre. Reduced to selling his body to keep himself from starving, and now making friendly with a cop. This is not how he pictured his life turning out. But, what can ya do?

Sitting up straighter, he says, “name’s Slit.”  
When Max raises his eyebrows in the rearview mirror, Slit supplies, “before the face, believe it or not.”

Max smiles a sad kind of half-smile that confuses Slit, and starts the car in silence.  
“Gonna take you to a shelter. Real nice people. You’ll....ah, they’ve got beds and decent food there,” Max says, and Slit gets the sense that officer Rockatansky doesn’t talk much if he can absolutely help it. 

\------

Slit is just accepting the fact that he is going to fall asleep in the back of a cop’s car when Max’s cell rings.   
Sitting up a bit more, Slit watches through half-closed eyes as Max pulls the cell out of his pocket and answers it.

After exchanging pleasantries, Max says to the person on the other line, “I’m taking this guy down to the local shelter, so I might be home a bit late.”

Max lets out a bark of laughter suddenly, startling Slit into full wakefulness, saying, “my boy....he wants to know if you’re cute.” 

Feeling a burst of self-confidence, but realizing that telling a cop ‘hell yes’ probably isn’t the best choice, Slit says, “I would like to say yes, sir.”

Max repeats this to the person on the other line, having to take the phone away from his ear when a burst of laughter erupts out of the speaker. 

In the next second, though, something is said that causes Max to slam on the brakes, sending Slit’s face right into the headrest of the driver’s seat.

Sitting back in the seat and rubbing his throbbing face, Slit watches Max in the rearview mirror as he runs a hand through his hair and sighs. 

“Yeah, you’re right. I’ll ask,” Max says into the phone before turning to Slit and saying, “my boy wants me to bring you to dinner. Says there’s more than enough.”

“Guess I’m coming to dinner, then,” slit says.  
Max nods and relays the message.

While Max listens to the person on the phone talk, he pulls back out onto the road and continues driving.

Holding the phone against his shoulder for a moment, Max says to Slit, “we’d better get you a shirt then. Make a pitstop at GoodWill before dinner.”

Slit nods, still kind of in shock that a virtual stranger is being so nice to him. Before he can work up to saying thank you, Max says into the phone, “very funny, Nux.”

Nux, Slit mouths, revelling in the way that word rolls off his tongue and buzzes on his lips. He hasn’t heard that name in eight long years, wasn’t even sure if the little shit was still alive.

Gods, he thinks, it’s been so long. Too long. He mouths the name again, just because he can.


	4. Before

Ace and Furiosa formally met when he was 25, and she was 15.

He had seen her before, thin as the boys with her black hair buzzed down and close to her skull. She was beautiful and terrifying, and he could tell that being trapped in Joe’s compound was killing her. 

 

For the past eight years, since he was 17, Ace had been the mechanic for Joe. Ace would go into the compound, round up all the trashed vehicles, find the biggest one, and hide as much children from the compound as he could in the vehicle without being caught. 

 

Ace was able to pull this off until one of the Boys had tipped Joe off, and as Ace’s 24 years became 25, Joe had a group of his lackey’s beat Ace, and beat him good.

 

In retrospect, Ace should have realized how hospitable Joe was being, and the fact that he was brought smaller car than he usually was should have tipped him off.

 

But, it didn’t, and that mistake nearly cost him his life.

 

The men, all bigger and stronger than Ace, had cornered him on his way to his pickup. Before he even had a chance to ask what the hell was going on, they were upon him and his world became nothing but pain and blood and then nothing at all.

 

Ace had came to in the back of his pickup truck, and after almost passing out more than once while driving himself to the hospital, he was told by a doctor just how much damage had been inflicted upon him.

 

The doctor looked tired and like he didn’t believe Ace’s explanation of a bike accident as he rattled off the damages:

badly fractured jaw that would most likely never heal straight, a broken leg that would heal into a permanent limp, as well as a broken arm and various other cuts and bruises.

 

Ace knew he was lucky to be alive, but he still felt guilty that he wasn’t able to get anyone else out of that hellhole, especially the girl, Furiosa.

 

\------

 

As injuries so often do, Ace’s healed -his mouth was crooked, giving him the appearance of constantly frowning, and the limp made it harder than it used to be to get around his shop.

 

Almost a year after the ordeal, Ace found himself driving within a few miles of the compound after delivering an engine part to a client.

 

The sun was fast sinking below the tree-line, and as distracted as he was with thoughts of work and how pointless ‘revenge’ would be, he almost didn’t see the girl until she screamed and collapsed almost right in front of his truck.

 

Skidding to a halt, Ace jumped out of the truck and ran to crouch down by the girl. She was on her stomach, skull brand on her neck bared to him and the elements.

 

Ace rolled her over as gently as he could, and almost fell back onto his ass when he saw who it was.

 

“Furiosa,” he said hoarsely, the name leaving his mouth in a gust of breath.

 

At the uttering of her name, Furiosa’s eyes flew open and she stared up at him.

 

Furiosa opened her mouth, lips moving but nothing coming out, and reached out to Ace with both arms.

That was when Ace realized that, where her left arm should have been, there was only a bloody stump ending right below the elbow.

 

Holding back vomit, Ace sprang to his feet, and, scooping up a weakly protesting Furiosa into his arms, drove way over to speed limit to the local hospital.

  
Then, while Furiosa was in surgery, Ace finagled a certificate of adoption -stating him as her grandfather- out of the social worker and then, with Furiosa legally in his custody, he went and drank way too much coffee in the hospital cafeteria.


	5. Chapter 5

Pulling into the GoodWill parking lot, Max turns off the car and turns to Slit, who has slumped down in the backseat with his chin on his chest.

“You got a shirt?” he asks, and winces internally when Slit jerks upright, eyes flying open.

 

“A what now?” the young man asks, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

Pulling out the collar of his shirt, Max nods at the clothing.

Slit shakes his head no. The only clothes he’s got are what he is wearing now. 

He must have forgotten to grab his shirt because he was too busy being kicked in the ribs by the old creep earlier that day.

 

Nodding, Max gets out of the car, shrugs out of his work jacket, and, opening the back door, holds it out to Slit.

“You can....ah, wear this,” he says.

 

Unfolding himself from the backseat, Slit takes the proffered jacket, and pulls it on. 

Once he has zipped it up, he realizes that his upper body is broader than Max’s.

 

Where the cop is rugged and slim, Slit is a brick shithouse. 

 

Shrugging, he pulls the collar of the jacket up around his face and follows Max into the store. 

 

And, upon stepping through the double doors, it feels as if all eyes immediately land on him and stay there. 

‘Like flies on shit,’ Slit thinks to himself as he makes his way to the shirt racks near the back.

 

Grabbing a black XL short sleeve, he heads back to Max, who had been rather awkwardly standing up near the registers, looking out of place in his faded Henley and knee brace. 

 

He hands the shirt to Max, who gratefully takes it and pays the snooty looking lady manning the cash register. 

 

After taking the shirt back from Max, Slit stares the lady right in the eye as he takes off Max’s jacket and puts on the tee shirt. 

 

Sighing in a way that only a single father can, Max takes his jacket and sort of herds Slit out the door and back into the squad car.

 

Sliding into the backseat, Slit waits until Max has started the car to mumble, “sorry. Didn’t like the way that old bag was staring at me.”

 

“It’s rude to stare,” Max agrees and pulls out of the parking lot and onto the street. 


	6. Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back with an update! And I am so sorry that I didn't update for so long. Things just got away from me. But, I will try my hardest, and when time allows it, to update more frequently. Thank you all for your continued leaving of kudos, comments, and patience. You all rock, and the continued support makes this whole writing thing so much easier!
> 
> -Priestly

The first time that Max and Furiosa met, she threw a vase at him and gave him a black eye. 

 

Max was 16 then, a light in his eyes and no knee brace, no limp, no PTSD, and no dead wife and child.

He was working at the local hospital as a candy striper for the summer, getting some extra credit for his next year of school. He didn’t really need the credit, but he enjoyed working in the hospital because the older nurses doted on him and the patients liked him well enough.

 

Furiosa was 15, and in the middle of her first week in the hospital, getting used to only having one arm, and waiting impatiently for a prosthetic to be put into motion for her.

 

When Max walked into her hospital room -a private one because her anxiety and PTSD were too overwhelming for her to handle having a roomie- Furiosa was reading a book, holding down the other half of the pages with her foot.

 

Upon seeing the teenager with her hair buzzed down to almost a military cut, bent over a dog-eared book, Max felt  _ something _ bloom in his stomach.

 

That something soon turned into surprise when the girl looked up at him with fire blazing in her eyes and threw the book at him. Max dropped instantly to the ground, and was just standing back up when the vase of flowers hit him in the face. 

 

The vase shattered on the ground at his feet, and Max went after it, picking up the jagged pieces even though they cut his hands, and dumping the whole mess of glass and flowers into the trashcan. 

 

Getting to his feet once again, he looked at the girl, who had pressed herself up against the wall, chest heaving.

 

Holding up his hands in a show of solidarity, Max said, “I’m the candy striper here. Hi. I apologize for startling you. I’ll go now.”

 

As he turned to go, her voice, so full of pain and fire, echoed in the room, “please do go.”

  
Nodding, Max left, and as he walked away, the sparks in his stomach took away the pain of his rapidly swelling black eye.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet, because I suck and can't remember the last time I updated this fic. I've also gotta be up in 6.5 hours, so that definitely factors into it. But, I am also having to get the feel for this story again, since I've spent the last however long finishing My Feral and kind of neglected this fic. Which is why I would like to thank the people that have continued to read and leave kudos on this work. It really means a lot that you guys didn't give up on it, and had enough faith in me as a writer to update. So, yeah. There's your dose of sappiness from me for the early morning/day. I'll try my hardest to be more consistent with updates after this one, and the chapters will most likely be longer, too. Peace

The almost harsh sound of the police cars tires crunching to a stop on gravel jolts Slit out of his semi-wakeful sleep and into full consciousness. 

 

He sits up straight in the backseat, feeling officer Rockatansky’s eyes on him, but not in the leering way that he has become so used to. Slit knows that he’s reasonably attractive, even with the thick scars on either side of his face. He has a nice body, both limbs, and all ten fingers and toes. But, the way that Max looks at him makes him feel like what he imagines a little kid would. It makes him feel like a human being....like he’s more than a thing.

 

Shaking his head to clear it of nonsense and unhelpful nostalgia, Slit follows the older man out of the car and up onto the porch of the two story house. 

Max goes inside first, and Slit follows, not knowing what to expect of Nux; wondering if it really even is  _ his _ Nux. Would the gods smile on a sinner like himself in such a way?

 

His question is quickly answered when his arms are suddenly full of an eight years older Nux. His back hits the closed door, jolting his bruised ribs painfully. But, gods, just being able to hold Nux again more than makes up for that.

 

Then, Nux moves just so, wrapping long legs tighter around his waist, and Slit’s ribs cry out in such a protest that he almost drops the younger boy. “Nux,” he gasps out, “you’re crushing me.”

 

Nux untangles his limbs and steps back onto the wood floor, looking at Slit from the inch that separates their heights. “Thought I’d never see you again,” he says. When his voice cracks, something in Slit springs to life again. Bringing up a hand that is only shaking a little bit, he grabs the back of Nux’s head and brings their foreheads together.

 

They stay like that, until Max, who had gone to finish dinner, calls from the kitchen, “soup’s on.”

 

\------

 

If Slit were the type of person to cry, in front of others and hardly at all, he would have. Eating dinner that wasn’t scavenged from dumpsters and acquired by selling his body, felt almost too good to be true. But, there he was, sitting next to the boy he used to entertain thoughts of marrying. He was eating spaghetti with meatballs, drinking water that was fresh and almost cold enough to hurt his teeth. It felt like he’d finally come home. 


	8. Before

Max had waited two days before going back to the girl’s room with the buzzed-down hair and missing arm, at the very end of his candy striping shift. The swelling of his eye had gone down, but he could still only open it to a slit, and the multi-colored bruise had yet to leave the bridge of his nose.

 

He knocked on the door this time, and almost turned around immediately after when he realized that the girl wasn’t alone. There was a man, who couldn’t have been older than 30, holding the girl’s hand. When he turned toward the door, Max was almost caught even more off guard by the crooked slope of the man’s mouth and scars on his face. They made him look grizzled and older than he really was.

 

Max lifted the hand that wasn’t clutching a new vase filled with daisies in a half-wave. The man beckoned him in, smiling an unintentional crooked smile.

Standing rather awkwardly at the end of the bed, Max said, “you’ve got good aim.”

 

The girl looked at him full in the face then, not smiling, but not frowning or throwing anything else at him either. 

Taking that as an unspoken invitation to stay, Max set the vase down on the bedside table and held out his hand to the man. “The name’s Max,” he said, “Max Rockatansky.”

 

Taking his hand, the man gave it a vigorous couple of shakes, saying, “I’m Ace. And Furiosa, my granddaughter, is the one responsible for your eye.”

 

When Furiosa glared daggers at her grandfather, Ace only laughed, saying to Max, “but you already knew that.”

 

Max did indeed, but had already decided that, if it meant he got to be in the same room as this Furiosa, she could throw whatever she wanted at him. 

 

That was when the very real realization of his crush on Furiosa hit him full in the face. He shot to his feet, feeling warmth creep up his neck and into his face.

 

Once Max had left the hospital room, leaving with a more sheepish wave than before, Ace had only looked at Furiosa, eyes full of humor and knowing. Furiosa only glared at him, feeling the words of nasty old Joe well up inside of her; how he told her that she was only good for child-bearing, and when she refused him for that last time, how he told her he’d make sure no one would ever want to fuck her and cut off her arm.

 

Tears of anger and pain welled up in her eyes, and she felt like throwing the new vase at the wall like the first one. Instead, she burrowed deeper under the blankets, shutting her eyes tightly against the onslaught of memories. 

 

Ace didn’t try to talk to her, knowing full well by now that when Furiosa was tugged under by flashbacks, the most she could verbalize were groans and the occasional curse word. So, he did what he could only hope any other grandfather would do and let Furiosa dig the nails of her remaining fingers into his hand. As long as she knew that she was safe, he would gladly deal with the bloody half moons that her nails left in the back of his hand. 

 


	9. Chapter 9

Later, once dinner is finished, Max takes off his knee brace and brings the dishes to the sink. Nux stands, too, saying, “da, we have a dishwasher.”

 

Turning to look at his son, Max quirks one half of his mouth into what could be a smile and points to himself. “Your dishwasher’s right here, boy,” he replies good-naturedly.

 

Nux only shakes his head, but he’s grinning so wide Slit can feel his own cheeks hurting. When Nux takes his hand, they both ignore how Slit jumps just the tiniest amount.

 

They leave the kitchen, and Slit realizes, not for the first time, that he would follow Nux to the ends of the earth if asked. He wouldn’t even hesitate. And, from what little he knows of love, he concludes that this must be what it’s like.

 

\------

 

Slit jumps to his feet so fast that his bruised ribs protest when Nux comes back into the bedroom, carrying clothes that can only have come from Max. Looking down at the sweatpants and flannel, Nux says apologetically, “don’t think I’ve got anything besides boxers that would fit you.”

 

“S’kay,” Slit says, and kicks himself for how tongue tied he feels around Nux. This whole thing goes against who he has been for the last nine years. The only time Slit would ever go into anyone’s house, let alone hotel room, was when he was working. Because money is money, more often than not.

 

\------

 

“Slit,” Nux says again, putting a hand on his old friend’s shoulder. They both silently agree to not notice how Slit jumps at the touch. “The shower’s ready.”

 

Slit nods, feels some of the tension uncoil from his guts when Nux makes a comical show of covering his eyes and turning around so that he can undress. Then, stepping under the hot flow of water, feeling it extra hard on all his cuts and bruises, Slit feels something inside him break. 

 

Suddenly, Nux is there behind him. Wrapping long and sinewy arms around his chest, holding him upright when his knees start to give out. The past ten years just feel so heavy right then, in the shower with the boy that he fell in love with as a child. The boy that he couldn’t save when he left Joe’s. The boy, now the young man, who came back to him again.

 

“Would a bath be easier?” Nux asks. Slit nods, leaning to the side so Nux can reach around him and turn off the showerhead. Then, ever so gently, Nux maneuvers them down to the floor of the tub. That’s when Slit realizes Nux is still in his clothes, having jumped in the shower to save him from probably cracking his head open. 

 

“Gonna get naked too, Nuxy?” Slit asks, breath going out in a  _ whoosh  _ as the warm water flows over his knees. He feels the vibrations from Nux’s chuckling going through his back as the younger man stands up and shucks off his soaking wet clothes. After tossing the clothing into the sink, he sits back down behind Slit. He scoots a bit so that his back hits Nux’s chest, relief flooding him when he finds that it’s harder than it used to be to feel every point of the young man’s ribs. 

 

They sit like that for a little bit, skin to skin. Nux leans forward again, reaching around Slit to grab the shampoo. He lathers up Slit’s hair, making a mohawk with the sweet-smelling lather. Slit huffs out a laugh, closing his eyes when Nux cups water in his hands and rinses out the shampoo. It feels so good, just being in this moment. It feels so good. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the flashback/nightmare, which is shown with being italicized, at the end of it the words become regular text again to show where Slit's sleeping connects back into the waking world. He is living out the past and the present at the same time, reacting in both the nightmare and in reality.

The first night, wearing sweatpants and a shirt that is not his, Slit sleeps on the couch. Or, he tries to. He had been too nervous and jumpy to take his boots off. He had his wallet under the pillow he was using, pocket knife clenched tightly in his hand, even as he slept.

 

When Slit’s eyes snap open, he is not sure if it was because of the nightmares that woke him up screaming, or the fact that someone had come running into the livingroom. Either way, he scrambles into a sitting position, looking up at Max. 

 

The officer has ridiculous bedhead, cowlick sticking almost straight up in the back. His chest is moving fast, but more out of worry than exertion. Something flashes in the low light then, and Slit sees the handgun that Max quickly tucks into the back of his pajama pants. He is also barefoot and without his knee brace, which makes Slit belatedly wonder how he managed to get down the stairs so fast without any pain or fear of falling.

 

“You alright?” Max asks, and his voice sounds more like a worried father than a grizzled and world-weary officer. But, maybe that’s Slit projecting how he feels onto the man.

 

Putting his knife into a pocket on the sweats, Slit mutters, “nightmares,” then, “yeah, I’m alright.”

 

Nodding, Max turns to go back upstairs. He stops, though, coming back into the livingroom. Reaching out a hand as if to put it on Slit’s shoulder, he changes his mind halfway through and lets his arm hang back by his side. “Nux’s room is at the end of the hall. Leave your shoes here,” he says quietly. Slit feels a burst of something warm in his guts, and briefly wonders if it’s internal bleeding from that gross old fuck trying to kick in his ribs that morning.

 

After a few beats of silence, Slit decides that he is not, in fact, bleeding internally, and bends to untie his boots. 

 

Leaving the well-worn boots by the couch, Slit follows Max upstairs. Right behind the older man, it is easier to see how much Max is limping already. He hides it pretty well, though, putting more weight on his good leg and putting that foot on the next step up first.

 

They part ways at the top of the stairs, Max going into the first room, and Slit making his way to the last room.

 

Nux sits up in bed when the door opens, rubbing his eyes, palms out like a child does when crying over a scratched knee. Slit briefly wonders if he does that, too, and then Nux is silently making room for him.

 

He lays down on the outside, like how he and Nux used to sleep when they were little kids. And, he sleeps through the rest of the night, matching his breathing to that of his friend.

 

\------

 

The unspoken sleeping arrangement that Nux and Slit have going keeps up, and well, for the first week and a half that Slit stays with Nux and Max. Then, one night, it takes him longer to fall asleep than it usually does, which should have been the first indication to Slit that things were about to go south. But, he had ignored it and burrowed deeper under the blankets. Which, as the dark tendrils of the nightmare oozed over him, proved to be a rather bad idea, fueled by nothing more than wishful thinking on his part.

 

\------

 

_ It wasn’t the first time that Slit and Nux had tried to escape from the compound that Joe and his lackey’s called The Citadel. It also wasn’t the first time that they had been caught. Which meant that the punishment would be worse than the first time, which wasn’t all that pleasant, either. _

 

_ Slit and Nux had made it out of the compound, but got grabbed by two older and more brainwashed boys before they could get onto the road. Slit got knocked unconscious when he was thrown into a tree, back of his head smashing into the thick and unforgiving bark.  _

 

_ He came to, not knowing how long he had been out. Checking himself over for broken bones, he relaxed a tiny bit that all his limbs were intact. But, panic set in when he tried to sit up and was held back on the boxspring by the thick straps across his chest and waist.  _

 

_ Hands starting to shake, fear making a fist around his heart, Slit looked around wildly for Nux. Finally, after what felt like hours in his pain-hazed state, Slit’s eyes met Nux’s from across the room.  _

 

_ The younger boy wasn’t held down with anything, but with how pale he had gotten, it was more than clear that he wouldn’t be able to stand up without collapsing. Nux’s lips had been all but shredded, deep cuts made to resemble a skull’s mouth. Blood ran down his chin and onto the floor, making Slit set his teeth on edge. _

 

_ He started yelling then, promising to kill all the bastards that had touched his friend. When he stopped to take in a ragged breath, however, he nearly bit down on the edge of the boxcutter that was in his mouth before it was jerked violently to the side. Slit screamed so loud his jaw made a popping noise on each side, and blood ran into the back of his throat.  _

 

_ He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t do anything. He was choking. He was going to die choking on his own blood. Slit’s survival instincts kicked in then, and he  _ swung out his fists in either direction.

 

\------

 

Slit’s right fist connects with empty air, but his left flies true and collides with a solid mass that makes a strangled noise and falls off the bed onto the floor.

 

What happens after that feels like Slit isn’t a part of, as Max comes bursting into the room and drops to his knees beside Nux on the floor. Because, that’s what Slit had hit. Nux, his friend, possibly his first and only love, right in the stomach. Anxiety bubbles up in him, and he finds himself fleeing from the bedroom and down the stairs into the bathroom. He shuts the door, feeling bile crawl up his throat.

  
  


\------

 

Max finds Slit maybe an hour later, slumped up against the wall next to the toilet, head in his hands. Closing the door behind him and sitting down on the edge of the bathtub, Max says, “Nux is okay, you know.”

 

When Slit still hasn’t looked up after a few moments of silence, Max fishes his phone out of his pants pocket. Going to the pictures app, he flips through some before coming to the one he wants and holding up the phone to Slit.

 

“You don’t know Furiosa,” Max starts, “but she has nightmares, too. Horrible ones, and sometimes, things happen.”

Slit does look up then, and winces at the photo of what is a clear print of prosthetic, jointed fingers bruised into the side of Max’s neck. 

 

“That happened the first time Furiosa stayed over,” Max continues. “And then I gave her a black eye the next night.” He chuckles, but it’s a dark and humorless sound. There is nothing funny about PTSD-induced nightmares that accidentally make you hurt the ones you love when they are just trying to help. 

 

Bringing the phone back and scrolling through to another picture, he hands Slit the phone. Slit looks down at the image of teeth marks in what can only be Max’s arm. There is a perfect top and bottom indentation of teeth that Slit knows well, even though they are almost obscured by the torn skin and so much blood. 

 

“That was on the first night after I had adopted Nux,” Max says, almost to himself. “I woke up to him screaming and thrashing around in bed, and when I reached out to wake him up, he bit me.”

 

“It was my own fault, though. Took me forever to convince Nux of that, and even longer than I wasn’t going to send him back to this place he called ‘The Citadel.’”

 

“What I’m trying to say,” Max finishes, getting to his feet, and holding out his hand to Slit, “is that things happen. But Nux is okay, and so are you.”

 

Slit takes the proffered hand, and once again follows Max back up the stairs. This time, however, Max walks Slit to Nux’s room and opens the door for him, too. He goes inside, hearing Max say something about needing his beauty sleep before the door closes and it’s just him and his sleeping friend.

 

Slit goes over to the bed, laying down gently as to not disturb Nux, and almost cries in relief when the younger man throws an arm over his chest. Slit takes Nux’s hand, squeezing his fingers and shutting his eyes, breath evening out as the guilt leaves him like clouds leaving the sky after a storm.


	11. Before

A week before Max Rockatansky graduated from high school, he and Furiosa spent a week drinking cheap beer and cooking food with the small amount that Max had in his fridge. The way that Furiosa worked, chopping vegetables with her arm on and off, made something sweet and hot curdle in his guts. Often, he wasn’t sure if the feeling was hunger or love, but it made him feel alive in ways that he never had before. 

 

While the hodge-podge of veggies, rice, and chicken simmered in a covered pan, Furiosa turned to Max. Leaning up against the counter, arms loosely crossed around her middle, a blush crept into her cheeks as he smiled at her over his shoulder. Elbow deep in suds, cleaning the dishes, he hummed appreciatively when she moved to wrap her arms around him. 

 

“We are so fucking  _ domestic _ ,” she murmured. Max laughed, and she felt the low rumble of it right to her core. 

 

Putting the last of the dishes on the rack and rinsing the suds off his hands, Max moved away from the sink and over to the fridge. Pulling out two beers, he popped them open with a lighter that only ever got used to light candles.

 

Furiosa smiled around the lip of her bottle, allowing herself to imagine many more years of cooking and drinking, but always sweating so much the alcohol had no effect on them.

 

Then, a little while later, stomach full of good food, and the pan soaking in the sink, Mad pulled her close and kissed her. He the top of her head, her forehead, the tip of her nose, and finally her lips. It was ridiculous, but made electricity  _ zing _ all the way through her and made her feel like they had the possibility of lasting forever. 

 

\------

 

Furiosa didn’t make it to Max’s graduation. It hurt too much, knowing that after the weekend they spent together, she would never see him again. He was going out of state for school, and leaving her behind. Sure, she had Ace, and didn’t know what she would do without her pseudo-grandfather, but she needed Max, too. Ever since she gave him a black eye with a flower vase when she was 15, even thinking about him had made butterflies take up nests in her stomach.

 

And she had never told him, because she wasn’t good at articulating things like that, and neither was he. But it had worked, the thing that they had going on. Making out, occasional heavy petting, and how Max went almost boneless when she nuzzled into her neck was more than enough. It was more than she had ever had in her whole life. Furiosa had almost convinced herself that she would die without knowing anything but cruel touches from a man. 

 

But then there was Max, with his kisses and rubbing few-day-old stubble on her face and breasts. And there was Max, always knowing when to stop, listening whenever she said no and holding her through the attacks that her triggers brought on. He never hurt he, he promised that he never would.

 

Then Max  _ fucking _ Rockatansky went and got accepted into a college that was directly connected to the police academy a few states over. She was happy for him, she really was. But that was hard to think about when the pain from losing him felt, in that moment, almost as bad as getting her arm sawed off with a rusty blade. 

 

Poor Ace, too. Furiosa spent the whole day, doubled over and sobbing in so many spurts that he had almost taken her to the ER. Not out of some ridiculous lack of understanding of her emotions, but because she was almost as distraught as the first day they had met, two years ago. 

 

\------

 

Max kept in touch for the first few years, sending letters and packages full of things that reminded him of her. And then, after three years, it all just stopped. Furiosa didn’t cry, when months went by and she didn’t get anything from Max.

 

\------

 

Max Rockatansky did not, in fact, forget about Furiosa JoBassa. Quite the opposite. He thought of her everyday. And then, quite by accident, he met Jessie and fell head over heels in love. She didn’t even have to give him a black eye.

 

\------

 

Years later, after Jessie had died and Max was still on crutches from his leg being smashed up, his transfer papers finally went through and he moved states away once again.

 

\------

 

The first time that Furiosa saw Max again, after ten years, she almost punched him. With her prosthetic hand, because she knew for a fact that being hit with metal hurt more than the contact of skin on skin. But then, when the slight haze of red and years of hurt had cleared from her eyes, she saw just how broken down and tired Max looked.

 

His right leg was in a cast from foot to mid-thigh, face bruised up and arm casted, too, he looked about ready to fall over. And he was being put back on the job. A desk-jockey until he could move without crutches. And he was back. He was back. Max Rockatansky had found his way into her life again.

 

Then, almost before Furiosa knew what she was doing, she had calmly walked over to Max and crushed him against her. He stiffened, pulling away slightly to look into her eyes. As recognition filled his, hers filled with tears.

 

“Don’t ever leave me again, Max,” she whispered.

 

“I won’t,” he promised.


	12. Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has taken me the better part of two weeks to write this chapter, and I don't really have an excuse other than: working on stories in my head is exponentially easier than typing them out. This is going to be the last chapter going into Max and Furiosa's backstory, as I have established how they met and all that jazz. There will still be at least a few more chapters going further into Slit and Nux's time at Citadel, and then the rest of the story will be in present time.   
> To those of you still reading this gay-ass fanfiction, your patience and continued support is greatly appreciated.

Furiosa took Max home with her. Partly because the other officer that had dropped him off earlier had left already, and mostly because a large part of her never wanted to let him out of her sight again. Just being able to touch him, to hold him, after so many years, rekindled a burning fire in her guts. The raging inferno inside of her, it called his name.

 

On the drive to her apartment, Furiosa kept on stealing glances at Max like she was afraid he would disappear. That may have been true, but she had also almost forgotten just how beautiful Max was. Even all busted up, he was still one of the most handsome men she had ever seen.

 

\------

 

“There’s an elevator,” Furiosa said as she and Max stared up at the five flights of stairs to her top-floor apartment. She had control of most of the flat roof, as well, and had planted a garden in large, roped off portions. A corner of Max’s lips lifted in what could only be described as a half-smile as he followed her to the elevator. 

 

\------

 

Furiosa moved around the kitchen in her apartment, feeling Max’s eyes on her. He was sitting at the kitchen table, casted leg up on a chair. After a few more moments of silence while she got out the ingredients for rice with sauteed vegetables and chicken, Max asked, “are you gonna let me help, Furi?”

 

The knife Furiosa was holding clattered onto the kitchen floor, and suddenly Max was beside her. Leaning heavily on the counter, he laid his free hand on her shoulder. Bending down to pick up the knife, she then turned to face him. “Nobody’s called me that in so long,” she said, words leaving her mouth on a forced laugh.

 

When Max moved his hand to cup her cheek, she felt the shaking of his fingers against her skin. Pointing at his vacated chair with the knife, she said, “you can sit down and chop vegetables, and not get up anymore.”

 

Taking the knife and wiping it off on his pant leg, Max sank gratefully down onto the chair. Furiosa placed some vegetables and a cutting board in front of him. Then, since she had momentarily forgotten his arm was also broken, she asked, “will you be okay to use the knife? It won’t hurt your arm?”

 

Looking up from where he was already neatly dicing the vegetables, Max replied, “I think I’m okay.”

Nodding, Furiosa turned back to cutting the chicken and setting a pot of water to boil on the stove for the rice. 

 

\------

 

Later, with dishes in the sink and an empty bottle of wine, Furiosa and Max lay on her bed. Max was on his back, leg elevated thanks to a few pillows, and Furiosa, on her side, ran her flesh fingers through his hair. “You got married,” she said quietly. It wasn’t a question, but it wasn’t an accusation, either.

 

Turning his head to look at her, Max said quietly, “had a sprog of my own, too. Then a drunk driver smashed my leg and the life I had into pieces.”

 

Curling tighter against him, Furiosa said, “I’m sorry, Max.”

 

Chuckling, Max closed his eyes tightly, lifting his good hand to press over them. After a couple minutes, he removed it, saying, “it’s a good thing this place has an elevator, or else you woulda had to carry me.”

 

Sitting up so she could look down at Max, Furiosa noted the hectic pink splotches on his cheeks from the wine. “Are you implying I can’t lift you?” she asked.

 

“I’m sure you can,” Max laughed, “but I’m feeling rather fragile right now.”

 

Laying back down, Furiosa entwined her flesh fingers with Max’s unbroken ones, promising, “another time then.”

Then, after a few minutes had passed without Max saying anything, she looked over at him and realized that he had fallen asleep. She also realized, with a small bit of sadness, that that was the most she had ever heard Max talk in all the years that she had known him. 

 

Letting out a small sigh, she pulled the blankets farther up over both of them and proceeded to sleep through the night for the first time in years. Not that she would tell Max that, she didn’t want it to go to his head. 

 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, after 20,000 years of not updating this gay-ass fanfiction, I am back! Partly out of guilt for letting down the people that are still reading and supporting this story, and partly because I have the ending written in my head already and want to get this done so I can devote what is soon to be very minimal free time to rewriting an original work. Thank you all for being so patient with me.   
> I am fairly confident that I can finish this fanfic in a couple more chapters without it feeling rushed. And if I stop updating again, that means I have been crushed under the weight of college and my dish-washing job!  
> Seriously, though, look forward to the super sappy, super gay, super-sad-and-then-super-happy ending within the next month! *throws confetti*   
> (Addendum: consider this rather short and sweet chapter the calm before the proverbial storm where I make myself cry with all of the....the FEELS).

Slit wakes up the next morning, panic filling his chest for a few breathless moments before he remembers that he’s in Nux and Max’s house. He’s safe, and really warm, despite him having apparently shed the sweatpants and tee sometime during the night. Going to stretch, he realizes that the extra warmth is coming from Nux doing his impression of an octopus, effectively pinning him to the bed with sleep-heavy limbs.

 

He relaxes a bit then, rolling small cricks out of his neck and looking down at the childhood friend he was certain had been killed all those years ago. On the night that Nux managed to escape, with Slit helping by setting one of the many outbuildings at the Citadel on fire, he had almost died, too. 

 

Nux murmurs a string of nonsense, and wriggles around until his elbow is pressing down onto what Slit now realizes is his very full bladder. Groaning, he taps calloused fingers against Nux’s temple until he stirs. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Nux gazes up at Slit, the clear emotion in his eyes making the older boy feel a mixture of awe and sick to his stomach.

 

“Gotta piss, Sleeping Beauty,” Slit says, worming out from under Nux and all but sprinting to the attached bathroom. 

 

After relieving himself, Slit glares at his reflection in the mirror while washing his hands. Sometimes Slit thinks that the thick scars and staples on his face wouldn’t bother him frequently if they had been self-inflicted. But he also knows that he should consider himself lucky that Joe didn’t have his lackeys actually kill him. 

 

Rubbing a hand down his face, Slit tries to hide how he jumps when long and sinewy arms wrap themselves around his waist. Using the inch in height difference between them to his advantage, Nux rests his chin on top of Slit’s head. “You always have been shiny and chrome,” Nux says softly, moving to press a kiss to Slit’s cheek. 

 

The older boy only shakes his head in response, chuffing out a laugh. Kissing him again, this time on the corner of his mouth, Nux murmurs, “we need to get you some clothes.” When Slit turns around to face him and spreads his arms as if to say ‘you’re joking,’ Nux laughs, finishing with, “your indecency is giving me second-hand embarrassment.” 

 

\------

 

On their way to the outlet malls, Slit has Nux pull Max’s beat-up old Volvo into the parking lot of the local bank. While his friend waits in the idling car, Slit goes inside and removes all of the money he’s made from his safe deposit box. The lady at the desk smiles at him when he leaves, and if her had the social graces to do so, he would properly thank her for not calling the cops those many times he came in bruised and bloody. Instead, he grins at her in the most non-menacing way that he can and exits the building.

 

Once back in the car, Nux doesn’t ask about the thick envelope that Slit zips into the pocket of his only jacket, and Slit doesn’t offer an explanation. He figures that Nux doesn’t need to know how he survived all those years after escaping The Citadel before they met again. 

 

\------

 

And if Slit ends up putting a large chunk of his money into the safe that Max keeps under his bed, next to a shotgun, none of them mention that, either. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, after for-fucking-ever, I am back again with an update! Gonna wrap this baby up soon, so I am making it as gay, sad, and then happy, as possible. I will try my hardest not to go months without an update again, but college zaps a lot of my energy and creativity. Again, eternal thanks to those that have stuck with this story and continue to leave kudos. Ya'll are shine AF.

Slipping his arms from the dark blue sleeves of his mechanics jumper, Slit swipes a hand across his forehead, leaving a streak of black engine grease behind. Nux bounds over to him, almost too cheerful and energetic after having spent all day working on other people’s cars. “Black’s a nice color on you,” Nux says, licking his thumb and attempting to wipe away the grease. He only smudges it, though.

 

“Get off me,” Slit chuckles, ducking around Nux and heading out of the garage. The younger boy follows him, reaching out to take his hand before changing his mind. Slit reaches back then, grabbing Nux’s hand in a playfully crushing grip.

 

“Ace invited us to dinner,” Nux says as they go out to Max’s volvo, parked behind Ace’s Garage, to change clothes.

Slit nods absently, climbing into the back seat while Nux takes the front.

 

Stretching out on the cracked seats, Slit wriggles out of the sweat-soaked jumpsuit and pulls on his jeans; his bare knees show through the ripped fabric. 

 

Nux pulls back on his black cut-offs, taking advantage of the summer heat. Leaning around the seat, mouth stretched wide in a skeleton grin, Nux whispers, “you should come up here.”

 

Sitting up, Slit grins back, feeling the thick scars on the sides of his mouth pull, replying, “ _ you _ should come back here.” He pats the seat next to him for emphasis. “More room,” he adds. 

 

Nux slides through the two front seats, settling himself in Slit’s lap. He smiles up at the older boy, wrapping a hand around the back of Slit’s head to bring their foreheads together. When their lips meet, Slit feels sparks all the way down to his toes. 

 

All those years, selling his body and forgetting what kind touches felt like, Slit hardly knows how he survived it. But being here now, with the boy he loves in his lap, things seem more than a little bit okay.

 

Then, when the kissing is becoming more heavy-petting and Nux is just starting to slip his hand down the front of Slit’s jeans, Nux’s phone goes off. The boys scramble apart like what they’re doing is bad, and Nux goes to answer the call.

 

Before Nux can say anything, Ace’s gruff voice comes through the speaker: “soup’s on. Get here before it’s gone.”

 

Slit snickers at what was probably unintentional rhyming on Ace’s part, and exits the vehicle. Stepping out after him, Nux tucks his cell back into his pocket and closes the door. Together, they go back to the garage and up the rickety old stairs to Ace’s apartment.

 

\------

 

Ace opens the door before they knock, wearing an apron with ‘Foxy Grandpa’ emblazoned on the front over a grease-stained pair of jeans and threadbare flannel. “Diggin the apron,” Slit says, in such a way that it is not entirely clear whether he is being sarcastic or genuine. 

 

Nux whacks the back of his head, closing the door behind them. Ace goes back to the kitchen, and they follow him, not having been in the older man’s apartment enough times to make themselves comfortable without it first being offered.

 

When they enter the kitchen, Max looks up from where he is dicing vegetables next to the sink. “Hey, da,” Nux says, going to wrap his arms around Max in a quick hug.

 

Slit stands right in the entrance of the kitchen, unused to what is clearly such a functional family and their dynamic. Peace is not something that he is used to. 

 

“Glad you like the apron,” a voice says from the kitchen table. Slit turns, finding himself looking at a familiar face. Furiosa Jobassa smiles around the chipped mug as she takes a drink, setting it back down, finishing with, “I bought it for Ace after he saved my life.” 


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: after 50 million years, I am back with an update! Going to try and wrap up this story in one more chapter, maybe two. Until that happens, enjoy this sad. (And, to everyone that keeps reading this gay-ass fanfiction and leaving Kudos when I am unworthy, thank you so much. Ya'll make this damn writing thing so much easier).

If Slit had been asked where he saw himself in ten years, his answer would have most likely been: “fuckin dead.” Sitting across from Furiosa Jobassa at a table that listed slightly to the side was certainly not going to have been part of his answer, yet here he is: doing just that. 

 

By the time that Nux and Slit were brought to The Citadel, Furiosa had been gone for ten years. But, parts of her still lingered in the fellow boys that talked about her with reverence, or the way that Joe would get shit-faced and curse the woman’s very existence. If ‘the-one-that-got-away’ could exist for a man as horrible as Joe, Furiosa Jobassa was just that. What he did to her as a young girl, from forcing himself on her to cutting off her arm, it was a wonder she hadn’t gone back to kill him yet. But, even with people as vile as that, there was a need for probable cause and all that legal junk.

 

Slit opens his mouth to ask about the life-saving, but Furiosa beats him to it. “Ace used to work on cars for Joe,” she says, gesturing to the slightly grizzled man stirring Max’s diced vegetables into a pot of rice. “He would smuggle boys out in the trunks of the cars he took to work on. But before he could get me out, some of Joe’s lackeys found out and almost killed him. That’s why he’s got a fucked up face and limp.”

 

“Hey,” Ace says, shaking his spoon playfully at Furiosa. “A beauty is what I am.”

Furiosa grins at the older man, and continues telling Slit about how Ace saved her life.

 

Slit finds himself leaning closer against the table, drinking in the buzzed hair, fierce yet gentle eyes, and half an arm. This woman is a study in surviving trauma, and just being in the same room with Furiosa is enough to make his head feel light. He briefly wonders if this is what swooning feels like, but before he has time to consider it more, Nux comes over and plants a soft kiss on his scarred cheek. Slit feels himself go bright red, thanks to the semi-public affection, and that he’s slowly turning into a tomato in front of  _ Furiosa JoBassa _ , of all people.

 

“You ass,” he stage whispers to Nux, who steps out of the way of his playful slap. Looking back up then, he finds Furiosa watching them with a sort of tenderness in her eyes that makes his heart ache. ‘This is the way a mother would look at her child,’ a voice whispers far back in his head. But, what does Slit know about having a mother? Nux kisses his other cheek then, sliding into the chair beside him, and that particular unwanted thought is wiped from his mind. 

 

Furiosa gets up from the table, comes back with plates that are a faded blue, and forks. Max and Ace follow, the grizzled older man carrying a salad bowl, the limping cop with the pan of rice and vegetables. 

 

With a full plate of food in front of him, wafting warmth up into his face, Slit realizes that this is only the second time in his whole life that he’s felt like part of a family. Nux slips a hand into his, gently squeezing, and his heart flip flops in his chest. 

 

\------

 

Things are good for a while after that dinner. Slit works more with Nux in Ace’s garage. Furiosa spends most nights at their house, wakes them up with pancakes and strong coffee for Max in the morning. Everything is cheerful and comfortably domestic. Slit feels  _ safe _ , something he only ever felt around Nux when they were kids. 

 

\------

 

Then, two years after Max first found him on the street corner, the past comes back with a vengeance. 

 

\------

 

Slit and Nux get to work a little bit early, and whether or not it’s to make out in the back office is really nobody’s business. They never even make it into the shop, though. 

 

An unmarked, dirty gray van screeches up behind them. Four hulking men jump out, and Slit recognizes the third one as Joe’s son, Rictus just before Nux is jumped on by the remaining three men. He tries to go to his boyfriend, pull the men off, but something rips into his side, and stops him in his tracks. 

 

Slit is half-way turned around, hand pressed to his bleeding side, when Rictus hits him in the back of the head with what feels like a steel beam. His knees give out, and he crumples on the ground in a heap of pain and fury.

 

Rictus delivers a swift kick to his ribcage, and that’s what sends him over the edge into unconsciousness. 

 

The last thing Slit sees before his vision tunnels into darkness is Nux being dragged into the van, clawing weakly at his attackers with one hand while the other hangs limply at his side, wrist or arm obviously broken. 

 


	16. Hiatus

So, hey. I'm just going to call this extended absence what it really is. This work is on hiatus. It's not going to be indefinite, I can promise the few people that still read this work that much, at least. But, I don't have any inspiration for this story right now, or the time to put into making myself write it. I know that this work can be finished in only a couple more chapters, I just can't get myself to write them. I don't know why. I just can't right now.

However, I am in a fiction class this term, and will finally be writing something that I have been trying to write since middle school. I am glad to have the motivation and the drive to work on this piece after years of trying to start, but sad that I am lacking what it takes to finish this story. 

Once I have the first couple of chapters done with my original work, I will post them all at once. I hope that those that have kept on with this story, even with my months of not updating, like it as much as this one.

Thank you for your continued reading and support. It means so much to me, and I promise to finish this work as soon as I am able to.

-Priestly 

 


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